the KSK—Kommando Spezialkrafte, a specialized German unit.
Ian Northcutt’s father was a physicist at Oxford. They’d become estranged when Ian left Oxford University at age twenty-seven, just shy of getting a Ph.D, to pursue a military career, ultimately becoming a member of the British Special Air Service, better known as the SAS.
Felk and Unger had been with the U.S. Army’s Special Forces before the CIA recruited them for its SOG, Special Ops Group. All of them had seen action in Iraq, Afghanistan and other hot spots around the globe before leaving government armies to become hired operators for private contractors, who in turn were hired by governments to help fight their wars.
They were highly skilled and highly paid to do the dirtiest jobs.
Now, all were committed to the rescue of their friends in an action they called Operation Retribution.
They’d researched and drilled until every move was committed to memory, like an intricate pass pattern. The irony of the targets, American Centurion and the Freedom Freeway Service Center, was not lost on them.
They’d rolled fast from Ramapo to where they were situated now: in Upstate New York’s Thousand Islands region, a group of islands and shoals scattered in the St. Lawrence River, dividing Canada and the United States.
After the heist, they’d split into pairs, traveling on back roads. They’d hidden the motorcycles in wooded areas, where they switched to vehicles stolen from long-term parking lots at Newark’s Liberty International Airport. They’d checked dates on dash-displayed parking tickets. The vehicles were hidden in isolated areas about a mile from their current location and would not likely be reported stolen for a week.
Felk reviewed their situation, recalling his research. He tapped his watch. The men prepared for the next stage by putting on wet suits.
New York state’s border with Canada stretches 428 miles. But between the twenty-six points of controlled entry, most of that border is “porous,” as an official for the New York Field Division of the Drug Enforcement Administration reported to Congress. The fact there are few natural, or man-made, barriers in the area to deter criminals was a key reason Felk chose this route for initial escape.
Felk and his men had a network of military friends everywhere, like-minded people who were always faithful. Their intelligence-gathering mission gave them the date and time that several million in unmarked U.S. cash was scheduled for delivery along 1-87 by American Centurion.
They had yet to count all the cash, but the amount looked substantial and put them in good shape for the next stage of the operation.
After zipping up their suits, they checked to ensure their small cargo packs were watertight before breaking camp, stepping into their canoes and heading into a chain of small islands in a northerly course.
The Thousand Islands, whose number is estimated at eighteen hundred large and small islands, are eroded Ice Age mountaintops. Part of a chain of metamorphic rock linking the Canadian Shield with the Adirondack Mountains. By Unger’s calculations, they still had a few miles to cover using a route that snaked along a necklace of small islands, many of them privately owned. In the distance, he saw the red beacons atop the spires of the bridges connecting the United States and Canada.
They traveled silently and unseen in the night, hugging islands wherever possible, ready at the first hint of trouble to vanish into a cove or inlet, or behind a jutting rock formation or trees that arched into the water. They heeded the approaching rumble of every motor, scrutinizing every vessel with their nightscopes, knowing they could easily encounter pleasure boaters, or an enemy.
The area was patrolled by the Ontario Provincial Police, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, Canadian and U.S. Coast Guards, the U.S. Border Patrol, New York State Police and New York State Park Police. Rounding an island dense with pine, Felk was satisfied that they’d come upon the invisible point in the river that was the border. But his relief was short-lived when he heard three soft knocks of Rytter’s paddle against the second canoe.
The alert for trouble.
On cue, the low distant rumble of a large inboard echoed around the island. Alarm rolled through Felk. The island nearest to them offered nothing but a rising wall of flat, wind-smoothed rock. The rumbling was getting closer. Nowhere to hide. Not a cove, inlet or tree. Nothing. The men paddled furiously to round the rock face, hoping some form of cover would present itself. Casting a backward glance, Felk saw the beam of a searchlight rake the surface.
Whatever was approaching was gaining.
Both canoes moved swiftly and silently, rounding the island until a good-size private dock reached out like a helping hand. With military precision the men guided their canoes to the dock. A large speedboat and two small boats were moored to it. Quickly, they tied their canoes to the dock, grabbed their packs and slipped into the water.
Keeping their eyes above the waterline, they hid behind the dock’s pilings. Felk manipulated the nightscope as a boat emerged. He cursed under his breath after glimpsing the word POLICE on the side. The boat’s powerful light swept across the dock and all the boats tied to it.
The engine stopped. The boat glided to the dock without a sound but for the gentle lapping of its wake.
“See.” A woman’s voice came from the boat. “He did it again.”
“Know what I think, Alice,” the man at the wheel of the police boat said. “I think you’re just looking for a reason to visit this guy again. I think you got a thing for him.”
“Bring me closer. He keeps forgetting to moor his boat properly. It drifts out into the shipping lanes. It’s not safe, Don. I’ll tie it down.”
The dock moaned as Alice hopped onto it.
From the water, Felk and the others watched through the planks as she moved strobelike above them in the light’s beam. Felk reached down to his calf until his hand found the handle for a ten-inch hunting knife. He would seize her ankle and bring her down into the water with him. He indicated for Unger to be ready and Unger gave a slight nod. Felk signaled for Rytter and Northcutt to pass under the police boat to take care of her partner.
They vanished in the black water.
Felk caught the patch for New York State Police as Alice crouched to secure the mooring line of the speedboat. He saw the butt of her pistol sticking from her holster.
“Okay, Don, done.”
“Sure you don’t want to go in, bat your eyes and tell him you done good, Alice?”
“Knock it off, wise guy. Hold on. What’s with these canoes? I don’t remember him having canoes.”
“Maybe he’s got company, Alice.”
“What the heck?” She walked along the dock, then halted directly above Felk. “Is there something down there? Don, bring the light over here.”
Felk swallowed air and submerged.
Underwater, gliding along the bottom, he swam from the dock. Behind him he saw fingers of light spearing the dark water where he’d been. Using one of the moored boats for cover he surfaced without making a sound.
His hand tightened on his knife.
He could see the female trooper, crouched on the dock, working her flashlight, trying to determine what she’d seen.
“Alice, come on,” her partner called from the boat.
“I saw something down there.”
“Likely a fish.”
Felk heard a muted radio dispatch.
“We have to go, Alice.”
